Top 36 Plath Poetry Quotes
#2. So I perversely circle the late stars, drowsier and drowsier, sleepily longing for something.
Sylvia Plath
#3. I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
From the poem Mad Girl's Love Song
Sylvia Plath
#4. We have conversations most nights, Sylvia Plath and me. On these cold wintry nights with our coffee mugs in hand, we talk for hours and hours, Sylvia Plath and me!
Avijeet Das
#5. I saw the gooseflesh on my skin. I did not know what made it. I was not cold. Had a ghost passed over? No, it was the poetry. A spark flew off Arnold and shook me, like a chill. I wanted to cry; I felt very odd. I had fallen into a new way of being happy.
Sylvia Plath
#6. The next morning I had Twentieth-Century American Poetry at MCC. This old woman gave a lecture wherein she managed to talk for ninety minutes about Sylvia Plath without ever once quoting a single word of Sylvia Plath.
John Green
#7. The blood jet is poetry
There is no stopping it.
Sylvia Plath
#8. The still waters
Wrap my lips,
Eyes, nose and ears,
A clear
Cellophane I cannot crack.
Sylvia Plath
#9. I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my eyes and all is born again.
Sylvia Plath
#10. Stasis in darkness.
Then the substanceless blue
Sylvia Plath
#11. Poetry at its best can do you a lot of harm.
Sylvia Plath
#12. The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right,
White as a knuckle and terribly upset.
It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet
With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.
Sylvia Plath
#13. The blood jet is poetry and there is no stopping it.
Sylvia Plath
#14. How can I tell Bob that my happiness streams from having wrenched a piece out of my life, a piece of hurt and beauty, and transformed it to typewritten words on paper? How can he know I am justifying my life, my keen emotions, my feeling, by turning it into print?
Sylvia Plath
#15. As a poet I would say everything should be able to come into a poem but I can't put toothbrushes in a poem. I really can't.
Sylvia Plath
#16. Sylvia Plath, Rumi, there's a lot of spoken word poets who do a really incredible job putting their spoken work into page poetry - that's what I strive to do.
Mary Lambert
#17. All night your moth-breath
Flickers among the flat pink roses. I wake to listen.
A far sea moves in my ear.
Sylvia Plath
#18. For me, poetry is an evasion of the real job of writing prose.
Sylvia Plath
#19. Poetry, I feel, is a tyrannical discipline. You've got to go so far so fast in such a small space; you've got to burn away all the peripherals.
Sylvia Plath
#20. I love Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton. I also love more cerebral poets like H.D. and Emily Dickinson. My parents subscribed to a monthly poetry periodical, and as a teenager I was introduced to Denise Levertov, who was an influence.
Francesca Lia Block
#21. Stars open among the lilies.
Are you not blinded by such expressionless sirens?
This is the silence of astounded souls.
Sylvia Plath
#22. I am solitary as grass. What is it I miss?
Shall I ever find it, whatever it is?
Sylvia Plath
#23. But writing poems and letters doesn't seem to do much good.
Sylvia Plath
#24. Brave love, dream
not of staunching such strict flame, but come,
lean to my wound; burn on, burn on.
Sylvia Plath
#26. So this was the reverse of dazzling Nauset.
The flip of the coin - the flip of an ocean fallen
Dream-face down. And here, at my feet, in the suds,
The other face, the real, staring upwards.
Ted Hughes
#27. Writing, then, was a substitute for myself: if you don't love me, love my writing & love me for my writing. It is also much more: a way of ordering and reordering the chaos of experience.
Sylvia Plath
#28. In my position, the right witchdoctor
Might have caught you in flight with his bare hands,
Tossed you, cooling, one hand to the other,
Godless, happy, quieted.
I managed
A wisp of your hair, your ring, your watch, your nightgown.
Ted Hughes
#29. I am inhabited by a cry.
Nightly it flaps out
Looking, with its hooks, for something to love.
Sylvia Plath
#30. Well, one wearies of the Public Gardens: one wants a vacation
Where trees and clouds and animals pay no notice;
Away from the labeled elms, the tame tea-roses
Sylvia Plath
#31. Maybe if I could slip into Sylvia's mind, sort out the spices in her rack, alphabetize them and dust them off. Maybe then I'd understand how it's the little things that pull you under.
Kelli Russell Agodon
#32. We have conversations with each other most nights - Sylvia Plath and me!
Avijeet Das
#33. The night sky is only a sort of carbon paper,
Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars
Letting in the light, peephole after peephole
A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things.
Sylvia Plath
#34. Clouds pass and disperse.
Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables?
Is it for such I agitate my heart?
Sylvia Plath
#36. I lean to you, numb as a fossil. Tell me I'm here.
Sylvia Plath
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